The Fade Out Line
by SGreenD
Summary: Set after The I of the Storm, Raylan has a nightmare and calls Boyd about it. Talking ensues. - No slash, just a little late night philosophizing.


Hey there, all of you Justified fans! This is my first fic for this fandom, and before you start reading I have a couple of things to say:

1. I'm German. English is not my native language. Furthermore, I have never set foot in the state of Kentucky and hence have no idea how they actually speak there. All I had to orientate myself were the first two seasons of Justified. I sincerely hope I did not make Raylan or Boyd, especially Boyd, sound like a hillbilly-moron stereotype. If I did, I sincerely apologize.

2. The rating is T because of some swearing - not more than on the show itself - and because of the nightmare I'm describing. It's scary. At least it scared me when I had it a couple of weeks back.

3. This story takes place the night after "The I of the Storm", my absolute favorite episode of the 2nd season.

4. The title is based on the song "The Fade Out Line" by Phoebe Killdeer and The Short Straws. But it's not, by any means, a song fic. (There'll also be a couple of quotes and/or references to songs and/or movies in this fic. The one who finds them all will get... something amazing! :D )

5. I'm a slash fan, I like to read it, but I'm not sure I can write it, so this is definitely not a slash fic, sorry. Just Boyd/Raylan friendship, or something along the lines.

Disclaimer: Justified doesn't belong to me, nor do Raylan Givens or Boyd Crowder, nor does Phoebe Killdeer, and I am not making any money with this.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Fade Out Line

It had been a long day, and Raylan Givens was tired. He'd barely slept last night, after he'd talked to Ava, had tried to convince her to kick Boyd out of her house, unsuccessfully, from what he could gather. Raylan had spent the night tossing and turning in his motel room, asking himself how much of a mistake it had been to let Ava go, to start this thing, whatever it was, with his ex-wife again. All they did for each other was causing trouble and brooding. And now she didn't even want anyone to see them together.

Winona's reaction when she'd seen Tim had surprised and hurt him in equal measures – she had met him before, knew Tim was a cool guy who loved to mind his own business and wouldn't think it to be his job to tell anyone he'd seen Raylan talking to and enjoying music with his ex-wife. Apparently, Winona disagreed. Tim might have been the exact opposite to what people would call a chatterbox, but Tim was a familiar face, and when Winona was with Raylan, familiar faces were a danger zone she was not willing to trespass. That she made Raylan feel like she was ashamed of him, she didn't seem to care.

Hence Raylan had gotten up this morning with little to no sleep, operating solely on caffeine and adrenaline, hoping the day would just be over already. Compared to yesterday, with all that stuff happening around Dewey Crowe and Raylan almost getting shot because of that hilariously dumb shit, today had been a quiet day. Sitting at his desk filing long over-due paper work and having Rachel look at him critically because she'd seen him nod off once or twice – maybe three times – was not what Raylan would have needed to wake up properly. Art invited him for a drink when the time to clock off came, but he declined. Raylan needed a drink, but he decided he needed sleep more right now.

The sun was just hiding behind the tree line when he opened the door to his room, and Raylan threw back a look and took a few seconds to admire the beautiful dusky sky. It was still early in the evening, but he was so tired he could barely stand upright. Stepping into his room, he didn't bother to turn on the light before taking off his hat, badge and gun and heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Stripping to undershirt and boxers, he lay down on the motel bed and stared into the dark.

As tired as Raylan Givens was, sleep would not come easy to him. His eyes got used to the settling darkness, and he could see the outline of the motel room ceiling. He saw a spider sitting in one corner of it. It was the far away corner next to the tiny bathroom so he didn't mind; the further the little thing was away from him when he did fall asleep, the less chance he might eat it in his sleep.

These and other ridiculous thoughts plagued him until he looked at the alarm clock and found that ninety minutes had already passed and he was still wide awake. A drink it was then.

Settled with two fingers of Jimmy, Raylan continued to stare through the darkness. At some point, his glass a sip away from empty, his thoughts turned to Boyd Crowder. What was he doing now, at, Raylan checked the clock, 10:30 pm? Was he working the night shift in the mine again? He didn't think so; he remembered, back when he himself had been a miner, that even the regular night shifters would have every other night off to recuperate from the hard work. But Raylan might have been wrong; Boyd might have been in the mine right now. What would he care?

Eventually Raylan did finally fall asleep. But it would not be the peaceful rest he would have wished for.

Raylan dreamed that he was sitting somewhere. It looked like a museum, but there was coffee on a table in front of him. Did they serve coffee in museums nowadays? Raylan wouldn't know. Museums weren't his kinda thing. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been to one. Probably when he'd still been married to Winona. That woman looked like the museum-type.

Someone was sitting at the table as well, across from him, and it was Boyd Crowder. Raylan could not know how he knew it was Boyd, he just KNEW like you do when you're dreaming. Because Boyd Crowder did not look like Boyd Crowder at all.

Raylan thought he didn't look healthy, no, not at all. He looked like he'd had cancer or something. Boyd Crowder had always been a skinny man. Raylan remembered he'd even dropped a few pounds while in prison that he didn't put on again when he got free. But now he was only skin and bones. His skin had a grayish tinge, and his hair, usually thin, was almost gone. His eyes were sunken into his face. He looked like death warmed over, or like he was suffering from a long-term illness.

Raylan had no idea what they were talking about, but they were talking like friends. Friends they had been, friends they could have still been, had things turned out slightly different. Raylan sipped his coffee and didn't taste it.

Boyd put his elbow on the table, and Raylan thought he REALLY didn't look healthy. He told Boyd as much. And Boyd his hand to his face, so that Raylan could see how thin his arms had become; they were literally nothing but skin tightly stretched over bone, and the skin was so gray…

There was actually no skin left at all. It was just bone, gray as asphalt. Raylan could see Boyd's ribs, every single one of them, and he could see through the spaces between them to the other side of the room. Boyd's face was wrapped in asphalt-gray gauze that looked old and worn and dirty, cobwebs hanging from it.

Boyd stood up and said he wanted to give him a hug, and suddenly Raylan felt disgusted and SCARED as hell of this thing that his friend Boyd had become. He stood up and backed off, but Boyd followed him, skeleton arms open wide, coming for the hug he craved from his friend Raylan. Cobwebs hung from his wrists and forearms, waving in a slight breeze that Raylan didn't feel, only saw.

Raylan, come on, give me a hug, the creature-that-once-was-Boyd said.

Raylan backed off further. He screamed. You're DEAD, Boyd. Just accept it already!

Raylan actually shouted when he woke up. His heart was racing, his sheets were drenched with sweat, his breath came in short shallow gasps.

"What the hell…?" he asked the empty room.

What had just happened here? Raylan seldom had nightmares, the things he did on a daily basis didn't usually follow him around. It didn't affect him a great deal anymore when he shot someone. It was always justified, so why bother? When he did have nightmares, they were about Arlo, or Winona leaving him, or his last day at the mine. Even when he'd shot Boyd, it hadn't bothered him. It had been justified. He had had one dream about it, but he couldn't remember.

Raylan turned on the bedside lamp; he needed three tries to make it, his hands were shaking so badly. "Shit!" he swore. As fast as he could manage – which, given his current state, was not very fast – he picked up his empty glass from earlier and poured himself another drink. His heart was still pounding against his chest, and it just didn't seem to cease. Raylan downed his first shot of whiskey in one go and immediately went for a second round. It was two in the goddamned morning; he was sure he wouldn't be sleeping again tonight.

* * *

Another half hour and few drinks later, Raylan had calmed down enough to start and think rationally about what he'd just dreamt. Him and Boyd, they went way back. They'd known each other even before the days at the mine, although they hadn't actually been friends; they'd heard of each other through rumors, and reputations of their respective daddies. Met a few times, talked a few words. Raylan thought of Boyd when he was a teenager. Skinny as hell – his mind thought of the dream-Boyd and he had to close his eyes and swallow hard –, but moving with a strange grace, smart eyes observing, always on the watch.

And then they'd actually met, in the mine. Their first day, and Raylan talked to him more than just a few words, and his impression that Boyd was smart found instant confirmation. He'd even cracked a joke or two when they went down and he'd seem to sense how nervous Raylan was. Boyd might have been nervous, too. He'd always been so good at hiding what was going on in his head.

They didn't necessarily always see eye to eye, and they weren't suddenly best friends forever, but for working in the mine, they decided to stick together. Two youngsters, not knowing anybody else, surrounded by strange faces in a foreign darkness, they gave each other support, and surprisingly, they worked well together. Raylan didn't like how much pleasure it brought Boyd when he got to yell "Fire in the hole!", and Boyd didn't like how keen on leaving Harlan Raylan was, but they trusted each other, and Raylan found an ally.

Then his last day at the mine. He'd never been petrified because of fear before, and not after, but right there, in the deep down darkness of the mine, when he heard the rumbling, and shouting, and RUNNING, but he just couldn't SEE… Raylan couldn't move. His body seemed to shut down on him. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, some part of him desperately wished for someone to just HELP him, and the rest had only one thought left to think: "This is it. I'm trapped. I'm gonna die."

And then Boyd's bony hand came out of nowhere and gripped his forearm so tightly it left bruises that lasted for a week, and Raylan could hear him over the steady mantra of "Help, please, Lord, help" and "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die" in his head, "Raylan, move! Come on, move! I'll get you out of here, but you have to MOVE NOW!"

And move Raylan did. Out of the mine, into the sunshine, out of Harlan a few days later, into college after a little while. And his life had been okay. He hadn't missed Boyd, not really.

But it took Raylan Givens twenty years and a bone-chilling, crazy ass nightmare to notice that he hadn't had one really close friend since then.

Raylan hadn't wondered why he didn't have a best buddy, like most of the people he knew did. He had friends, sure, but never a best friend, never one who knew all his secrets and shared everything with him. He'd always figured he just wasn't the type. People survived without best friends, a lot of people did. And it didn't bother Raylan, you couldn't miss what you never had.

Now Raylan wondered. What might've been, had Boyd left Harlan behind. Boyd Crowder had been the first person EVER that Raylan had felt trust and something akin to affection for apart from his mother and Helen. Had things been slightly different – and he remembered something that his dream-self thought while he was looking at dream-Boyd – they could have still been friends. Boyd might've been his best friend even.

He'd calmed down good enough, but Raylan couldn't get the image of a dead Boyd following him around out of his mind. It turned his stomach, and for a second he was afraid he'd throw up all of that fine whiskey he'd just consumed. It took him a few minutes of calming breaths to settle his queasy stomach, and Raylan decided that'd be his last drink for a while.

Knowing for certain that he wouldn't be sleeping again tonight, Raylan started on some paperwork, but he just couldn't focus. His eyes kept being drawn to his cell phone. He knew he still had Boyd's number saved in his incoming-calls-list.

It was 3 in the goddamned morning. Raylan couldn't get the image of a sick, of a dead and walking Boyd out of his mind.

* * *

"Who the hell is this?"

Boyd Crowder's voice sounded tired, and pissed, when he picked up his phone. Raylan couldn't fault him on it; hell, he'd react the same if someone woke him up at 3 am.

"Boyd?" Raylan almost regretted it as soon as he heard Boyd's familiar drawl. "It's Raylan here."

"Raylan." It sounded like a statement, but Boyd couldn't hide the surprise from his voice. "What is it, then? Another oxy-bus get robbed? You wanna ask me if I had anything to do with it?"

"No, actually." Raylan cleared his throat awkwardly. It was a bad idea. He must have been more drunk than he thought, to actually pull through with this shitty idea.

He heard Boyd heave a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "Then why'd you call me in the middle of the night, Jesus. What did I do? Finally a night off, and I'd been hoping for a bit of undisturbed peace and quiet…"

I'd been hoping for that, too, Raylan thought. "I just…" It was his turn to sigh now.

"You just what?" Boyd started to sound curious, maybe even a tad bit worried, rather than pissed. The sleep deprivation seemed to make his emotions more transparent.

"I… I couldn't sleep…" Now Raylan REALLY started to feel stupid.

"And so you just decided to give me a ring, chat 'bout old times? Something about this don't add up, Raylan" Boyd said. "Now, tell me, honestly. You been drinkin'?"

"You got no idea" Raylan mumbled.

They were both silent for a little while. This had to be the weirdest talk Raylan had ever had. Boyd didn't seem too keen on keeping the conversation flowing, which had to be a first for him, and Raylan plain didn't know what to say.

"Raylan?" Boyd finally said and made a noise like he was stretching out on his bed. "If you ain't got nothing else to say to me, I'd prefer to go back t'sleep-"

"I'm sorry, Boyd", Raylan replied hastily. "I just… never thought I'd make a phone call like this" he admitted, mirroring Boyd's words from when he'd called him to tell about Dewey Crowe.

"What kinda call is this, then?" Boyd sounded drowsy and not particularly interested.

"I had a dream" Raylan began, and then he just told Boyd about it, every detail, no matter how gruesome, he could still remember.

When he'd finished, Boyd stayed quiet for a long time.

"I'm sorry, Raylan" he finally said.

"What're you sorry for, Boyd?" Raylan asked, confused.

"That you're haunted at night by such dark things. I wouldn't wish dreams like this on my worst enemy…"

"Well, it's okay, Boyd. Appreciate the sentiment, but I didn't really call you to get your condolences."

"I know, Raylan. You called me cause you wanted to know I'm still alive. That I'm not bein' eaten by whatever it was that turned me into a walking corpse in your dream. I understand. I would've done the same."

Raylan thought about it. Did he call Boyd to hear him breathing and talking like he always did? Of course he did. He hadn't noticed because the beginning of the conversation had been so goddamned uncomfortable, but now that that had eased, Raylan felt it: The light shift of his shoulders, like a weight had been lifted from them; the queasiness of his stomach had disappeared; his breathing had calmed down completely. He'd really needed nothing but confirmation that Boyd Crowder was still alive.

"I guess I did" he sighed.

"That was an interesting dream you had there, son" Boyd said.

"I know. Don't need to relive it again."

"You don't have nightmares that often, do you, my friend."

"Nah, I don't. How'd you know that?" Raylan furrowed his brow.

"Cause you are shaken up by it like I never heard before. Guess there ain't just ice-cold water running through your veins, huh."

"Guess you're right" Raylan grumbled.

They were both silent again for maybe a minute, before Raylan spoke up again, hesitantly, like he was afraid he wouldn't like the answer to the question he was about to ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear Boyd's opinion on it either, but he asked anyway.

"What do you think it meant? The dream?"

"Suppose dreams actually mean something and are not just neurological waste?"

Raylan shrugged, although Boyd couldn't see. "Yeah, suppose. What you thinking?"

"Well, I'm thinkin' it might mean – and I'm aware you ain't gonna like that answer, but you asked me and I'm gonna say it – it might mean that you're, for some reason I haven't had the time to figure out, afraid to lose me."

"Boyd-" Raylan started, not knowing what he was gonna say.

"Let me finish, please. I told you, a couple of times in the last few days, that I'm tryin' to be a normal, upright citizen now, that I ain't gonna indulge in anything criminal. You don't believe me, but Ava's gonna kick my ass out if I do any of the shit I used to do. But bein' an upright citizen will not save me from decayin' here in this county."

"I don't think I'm following you."

"See, Raylan, we are all plungin' straight towards our own decline, without noticin', because that's what life is like in Harlan County. You don't really have anywhere to go, you don't quite have anything to do. Nothing worthwhile at least. Most people here are just bidin' their time, and they don't even know they're doin' it.

Maybe that's what the dream meant. Maybe I should've followed your lead. Maybe… I should've left as well, or rather, stayed away when I had the chance."

"You know damn right you should've." Raylan's throat felt raw suddenly, even though it'd been Boyd doing all the talking.

"I would be a different man now." Boyd didn't sound like he was wholly agreeing with him, but he didn't contradict him either.

"But I didn't, and I ain't, and that's what it is."

"I guess."

"I ain't dead, though, Raylan. Not yet." Boyd's voice sounded soft. "Neither are you."

Raylan yawned and dragged a hand through his hair. "Maybe that's all I needed to hear."

"Maybe it was" Boyd confirmed. He didn't sound tired at all anymore. Or pissed.

Raylan, on the other hand, suddenly felt exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days, which was the case. He'd been so convinced he wouldn't be able to sleep, but when he checked his alarm clock with weary eyes he saw that he still had a little more than three hours left before he had to get up, and he felt like he would sleep through every minute of these three hours like a dead man.

He winced at that comparison. Throwing those expressions around, he wouldn't do that for the next few days, even though he now had what he wanted, the confirmation that Boyd Crowder was in fact very much alive and not a walking skeleton with cobwebs hanging off of him. Although…

"You should eat more" Raylan said sleepily into the phone, out of nowhere.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're too skinny, Boyd, you should eat more."

He heard Boyd chuckle over the phone. "That so?"

"Yeah. Jus' to make sure you ain't gon' look like a walkin' skeleton anytime soon…" Raylan yawned right into the receiver, and Boyd chuckled again.

"You might wanna try and get some more sleep before sun-up."

"I really think I will."

"Good."

Raylan was close to hanging up now, ready to just fall asleep and deal with whatever the hell this talk was all about tomorrow after two cups of coffee, when Boyd spoke up again.

"Raylan, you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here, why?"

"I just wanted to ask… does this change anythin'?"

Raylan knew he was tired enough to be slow on the uptake, but something didn't sit right with him about this question.

"Does what change what?"

"This talk. You worryin' 'bout me, and don't say that ain't what it was, cause that's exactly what it was. Does it change anything for you and for me?"

"What would it change?"

"You mistrustin' me, thinkin' that workin' in the mine is just another cover-up to pull some scheme that I ain't tryin' to pull?"

"That church thing weren't just a scheme." Raylan interjected, thoughtful.

"No, it weren't, and look where it got me." Now Boyd just sounded sad.

"Would you WANT it to change anythin'?" Raylan asked, just to ask something.

"Well, hell, I'd appreciate it if someone took me seriously for a change, but, Raylan…" Boyd weighed his words. "All I know right now is that you are 'bout to fall asleep, and I ain't keeping you from that. Maybe, for both our sakes, it'd be good if we kept our distance."

"Can't disagree with that."

"Alright, now, Raylan. Good night."

"Night, Boyd."

Raylan waited until he heard Boyd hang up before he cancelled the call and laid his cell phone on the night stand. He looked at it for quite a while, before he turned out the light and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

I am planning on writing another Justified fic that builds up on this one, but it's supposed to happen during season 3, and for that I have to watch the 3rd season first, so it might take a while :)

And I don't have a beta, btw, so any mistakes you find, they just suck.

You wanna gimme a review? Go ahead then! I'm curious to hear what the lot of you think.


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